God Help the Outcasts
by muddmm
Summary: Quasimodo was not the only one listening to Esmeralda's prayer in the cathedral. ONESHOT


Clopin snuck into Notre Dame, adjusting the rich fabric of his 'borrowed' tunic and making sure his disguise was in place. _Damn, stupid, selfish wench!_ Of course the girl had to enrage Judge Frollo, of _course_ she had to flee to a damned stone prison, _of course_ there were guards posted at every exit, _of course he had had to come save her_! Again!

Esmeralda was a spoiled brat who got her own way too often and thought she was invincible. A belief enforced by the fact that she had never gotten into serious trouble a day in her life! Mainly because _he_ , the King of the Gypsies, refused to let Frollo take even one of his people when there was a chance to save them.

Clopin seethed silently as he searched the cathedral for the wayward gypsy girl.

She couldn't leave well enough alone – she never could! He had thought she was still in her tent changing for her next performance when the disaster with the hunchback began. Clopin had tried to get the poor creature off the stage but when Judge Frollo had given his silent approval for the torture to begin he knew there was nothing he could do. Not and keep his people safe.

But then _of course_ Esmeralda would be the one woman in all of Paris who could change clothes quickly and the next anyone knew she was slowly walking up onto the platform. Clopin admitted to being astonished at her tenderness. The Esmeralda he knew was sharp-tongued and harsh. The woman who had gently cleaned the misshapen face of the hunchback and spoken soft words of comfort had been a complete stranger to him. She had even spoken (somewhat) respectfully to Frollo when he had ordered her to get down off the platform. For a brief, shining moment, Clopin had believed a massacre might pass them by.

And then _of course_ , Esmeralda's inflated sense of self-importance and sharp-tongue got the best of her and the entire situation spiraled out of control.

He had been prepared to step in when ten of the city-guard had circled the gypsy girl. He would not let her be taken off to the Hall of Justice to be tortured and killed. He might despise the girl, might think she was more trouble than she was worth, but she was still one of his people – and he protected his own.

But she hadn't needed his help damn her! She had managed to lead the guards on a merry chase around the town square and he was impressed despite himself. (He secretly wanted to know how she had managed the disappearing act atop the pavilion. To his knowledge there wasn't a trap door anywhere near there.)

And then reality had come crashing down about the same time as the rain. Frollo would never forgive the gypsies this. Their impertinence and clear dismissal of his authority had been displayed in _the_ most public of fashions.

Frollo would burn all of Paris trying to find the gypsy girl who had made a fool of him.

Clopin had considered, for the briefest of moments, allowing Esmeralda's capture. She had gone too far this time and he would save more lives by giving her up to Frollo than he would by protecting the annoying chit.

But he was King. And he protected his own.

So now here he was in Notre Dame, wearing stolen finery, studying the doors and windows, and trying to find the one woman who was going to put him (and the rest of his people no doubt) in an early grave.

"No one out there is going to help, that's for sure." There. Her voice was coming for a nearby alcove.

Clopin turned the corner to discover Esmeralda speaking with a priest. He grudgingly admitted how stunning the nearby candlelight made her look. She was undeniably beautiful and he had always been amazed that that particularly trait was one she never used to her advantage. Her cloud of thick black hair was held back by a colorful scarf and he was able to see the glory of her emerald eyes – such a rarity among his people. The dress she wore hung off creamy, caramel colored shoulders and for a traitorous moment he wondered if her skin was as soft as it looked.

He mentally berated himself for his weakness. It was a damned good thing she never used her beauty to her advantage – he wouldn't have stood a chance. He doubted any man would.

"Perhaps there is someone in here who can," the priest replied.

Clopin snorted. Nothing within these stonewalls would help a gypsy. Not willingly anyway.

His mind turned briefly to the thought of bribing the priest to sneak Esmeralda out. He observed the priest as he left Esmeralda and debated whether he should speak to the man first or grab the girl before she got into any more trouble.

He was startled from his thoughts by the whispered singing of the gypsy woman.

" _I don't know if you can here me_

 _Or if you're even there_

 _I don't know if you would listen_

 _To a gypsy's prayer…"_

She had moved into the alcove and was staring with trepidation at a statue of the Virgin Mary holding an infant Jesus. Clopin's brows furrowed in confusion. He had never thought Esmeralda was particularly religious – very few of his people were. Constantly being mistreated and beaten tended to leave one with a rather bitter taste in God. He decided to hide himself and discover what she was up to.

" _Yes, I know I'm just an outcast_

 _I shouldn't speak to you_

 _Still I see your face and wonder_

 _Were you once an outcast too?"_

She stretched upward, reaching one hand as if to caress the statue's face but stopped. She heaved a great sigh and turned, walking through the benches and rows of candles aimlessly. Clopin detached himself from the shadows and followed along silently behind her.

" _God help the outcasts_

 _Hungry from birth_

 _Show them the mercy_

 _They don't find on earth."_

His hands clenched helplessly at his sides as he listened to her sing. He had always thought Esmeralda silly. Not oblivious, but certainly naïve. But as he listened to the pain in her voice he wondered how many horrible memories they shared?

Starving. Beaten. Neglected. Abandoned. Abused. If the people of the city just stopped to think about it for a moment, they would realize the 'gypsy problem' was one of their own making. No one would give them honest work because of their reputation for stealing and because they were not allowed to work they stole to feed themselves and their children.

Esmeralda continued walking and her next words stopped Clopin cold.

" _God help my people_

 _We look to You still_

 _God help the outcasts_

 _Or nobody will."_

What a useless prayer. God had not been among his people in quite some time. And yet he found himself echoing Esmeralda's pleas. He was losing the battle to keep his people fed, clothed, safe. There was only so much one man could do among the evils of the world.

He saw Esmeralda walking against a sea of parishioners, hiding among the columns as there voices rang out asking God and His angels for wealth, fame, and glory. He glared at them, at their fine clothes and full bellies. How hypocritical they were. He didn't remember many religious teachings but he did remember the bit about "do unto others." He turned to watch Esmeralda's face, thinking to see the same loathing and disgust that was on his own. But she just looked at the mass of selfish people sadly. She hurried past them, hiding behind one of the small walls that dissected the church.

He situated himself on the opposite side of the wall, leaning against a column, listening as she continued her tearful prayer.

" _I ask for nothing_

 _I can get by_

 _But I know so many_

 _Less lucky than I."_

She pushed off the wall and walked forward towards the large stained glass window. Clopin felt decidedly uncomfortable. He had always assumed she was a spoiled, selfish girl only to discover now there was a strong, caring woman standing in front of him. He thought back over their many interactions over the years and came to the conclusion he had been harsher with her because of his presuppositions. She had simply reacted defensively. She might not have always gone about things the best way but she was trying…just like he was. Esmeralda was trying to help their people fight for a life instead of hiding safely in the shadows, pretending everything was well.

" _Please help my people_

 _The poor and down trod_

 _I thought we all were_

 _The Children of God._

 _God help the outcasts_

 _The Children of…God…"_

She finished her prayer and lifted her face to the sunlight streaming through the window. If Clopin thought her beautiful before she was majestic now. The colors of the glass patterned her skin and she looked…well to him she looked how he imagined an angel would look. If an angel wore tattered clothes and hadn't eaten in days.

He heard the commotion from the discovery of the hunchback and decided to take his leave. He would not cower in these stonewalls, unsure of his footing, and ignorant of the future. He would go back to the Court of Miracles and think about the next step for him and his people.

Perhaps Esmeralda was right…perhaps it was time to stop hiding in the shadows and fight…


End file.
